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Arabesques and dinosaur families

My daughter is an individual.  I know, I know — everyone is an individual.  But isn’t it so fun to celebrate/laugh about/be embarrassed by your own kids’ individuality?

I have so much fun watching my daughter’s individuality come spilling forth that I rarely can convince myself to step in and direct her towards more socially acceptable behavior.  I just love that she sings and skips while we are in public, completely oblivious to the smiles of passerby.  I love her confidence so much that I never tell her to stop.

I love that her walk is punctuated with twirls, arabesques, and her own invented dance moves.  Even when she runs into people in the grocery store, I don’t tell her to stop (just to watch where she’s going).

I love that when all the children in our congregation stood to sing on the stand last year, she bounced, bopped, and danced to the reverent music right smack-dab in the front row.  Even if I had been sitting next to her, I wouldn’t have told her to stop — because I was laughing too hard.

I love that she adds her own accessories to her outfits — bunny ears, snow boots, homemade necklaces, and more. Unless we’re attending church or a special event, I don’t tell her to remove her bling — it’s who she is at that specific moment.

I love that she desperately wants to give her 1-year-old cousin, Shae, a dinosaur family as her birthday present.  I love that one dinosaur will not suffice — there must be a mommy, daddy, kid, and baby.  I love how firmly she holds to her idea, even when it appears the toy store just doesn’t carry dinosaur families.  I love that she won’t settle for a horse family, already together in a nice package.  I love that she can’t be talked into giving Shae a family of cars, a family of turtles, frogs, or bunnies.  No, it must be a dinosaur family.

And I love the squeal she unashamedly releases when, after 30 minutes of searching, she discovers a bin chock-full of not one, not two, not three, but FOUR different types of dinosaurs.

A new family of just the right size has been made, and a certain individual 4-year-old has no idea how strange her idea is.  And I’m not telling her.

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